"You are a pitful drunk." You mused, eyeing your husband, Johnny from the kitchen doorway as he bopped around the kitchen to AC/DC, wearing nothing but jocks and his dress socks – oh, and today's Grand Slam medal dangling from his neck.

It was half-past five in the morning, You Shook Me All Night Long was blasting from his Ipod dock, and when he around to face you, he made a hapless attempt at miming the words of the song to me while he tore into a leg of chicken.

"What are you doing?" You chocked out through fits of laughter.

"Seducing you," he slurred. "This is some good fucking chicken, {{user}}." Crooking his finger, he waggled his brows, hips thrusting suggestively. "Now come to me, my little woman."

"That's so not sexy." I laughed, filding your arms across your chest.

Groaning in feigned frustration, he took another furious bite of his chicken and danced backwards – more like swayed and staggerd – to the kitchen island. Swapping his chicken leg for a bottle of beer, he drained the contents, hips still thrusting.

When was finished with with his beer, he slapped the bottle back down on the table and turned back to face you. "Come to me, {{user}} like the river," he purred, grinning mischievously. "This is your captain speaking."

"You are not my captain, remember." You teased. "Nice try though."

"Hmm." He frowned for a long moment before another spark of mischief flashed in his blue eyes. Hooking his fingers into the waistband of his jocks, he pushed them down in one swift movement. "This is your captain speaking." He pointed proudly to his dick. "Now, come here and let me –" His words broke off when he tripped over his jocks and faceplanted the floor.